


Out of Bounds

by SunnyD_lite



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-26
Updated: 2008-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim isn't the only one with secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Bounds

"I'm stoked, man. Totally stoked! Can't believe the tickets are Courtside!"

Jim held the cellphone away from his ear, letting Simon and Darryl hear Blair's excitement. "So you'll be out front when we swing by? A little bird told me that the cheerleaders are doing a pre-show fundraiser."

"Totally! They're splitting the profits between a Jaguar rescue facility and a woman's shelter." Even miles away, Jim knew that the grad student was slipping into lecture mode. "I know they don't make the same as pro athletes, so it's great to see them giving back."

"I think Daryl just want to–" that comment was drowned out by the accused's fervent denial. "See you in twenty, Chief."

"Just going to check my email, then I be out front! Courtside!"

"I'm guessing the kid won't be late, if promptness and decibels are related." Jim watched as Simon pushed back on his desk chair and reached for his sports jacket. "Wish my car wasn't in the shop, or I'd suggest that we meet you there."

"Dad, can't you use one of the department's cars? That way we wouldn't have to wait, um there'd be more room, I mean." Darryl looked at the two adults. "No way I'm winning this one, am I?"

"Darryl, you know better than that. The department vehicles are not for personal use." That was the voice of his Captain. "Plus do you really want a car that's been through a three day stake out? No matter how hard they try, it's next to impossible to get stale coffee odors out of cheap upholstery." And that was Simon. The man was as fussy about his coffee as Jim's dad was about wines.

"Sorry there, buddy, looks like we'll be riding together." Herding the two Banks out of Major Crimes and onto the evening's entertainment. All his cases were closed and tonight was just the guys. It was going to be great.

##

It was going to be great! He hadn't seen Daryl in ages and the Jags were on a winning streak. So what if he sometimes felt like he was at the kids table when the four of them got together? One thing life with Naomi had taught him was the importance of inter-generational communications. People got so used to one shared mind set that interacting with other assumptions was great. Plus, he'd have to admit liking the younger Bank's adoration. It was nice to be seen at the cool one, rather than the annoying sidekick.

He smooshed all the marked papers into his backpack. He'd have to record the grades on line before handing them back on Monday. As always there were a few students who'd pleasantly surprised him. And a few he knew would be at the next office hours pleading for a change in their grade. But he wasn't going to let that interfere with Game Night. Jim had been going non-stop for weeks. He needed this break, just to remember what the ordinary lives he was protecting were like. Chuckling Blair wondered what Simon's reaction would be if he demanded Jim get R'n'R breaks in consideration of his Sentinel abilities.

He'd already checked his University email, and beside yet another threatening memo about adjunct professors and class hours, it was clear. So a refresh of his Hotmail account and he'd be good to go.

Or maybe not.

##

"Jim?"

"Hold your horses, Chief. We're just pulling into the University grounds now." He rolled his eyes at Simon's guffawing. So what if half of his cellphone calls were to Sandburg? That's why they had each other designated as their unlimited call buddy.

"That close?" Jim focused on his partner. His tone was miles away from the kid at Christmas of the earlier call.

"Sandburg, what's wrong?"

"I was just going to say no need to come by. I can't make the game. Something's come up."

"You're flaking on us?" That didn't sit right. He'd been looking forward to the four of them going out. Lately it had seemed that work was all he'd been doing. It wouldn't be the same with just the Banks.

"Really wish I could make it—"

"Then do so. Is this about a girl? We're talking Courtside."

"Jim." Blair said his name in many ways. He didn't think he'd heard it that sharp before. "Look, I can't. I'm sorry I make you waste a trip out here but."

"You're still in your office, right? I can hear that excuse for a fan in the background." That might be enough to refocus Sandberg; Sentinel stuff normally did.

"Yes," was the slow reply.

"Then at least come grab the ticket; they'll let you in at any point."

"What's this?" Simon started blustering. "The tickets were a gift, they're going be expecting ALL of us."

While Simon was talking, he tried to focus on the phone.

"Well, Chief? You want I should scalp it?"

That at least brought a somewhat normal response in the form of a snort. "Oh ya, Cop of the Year caught scalping donated ticket! Fine." Jim heard a chair being pushed back. "No promises, but if I can I'll join you guys later."

"Four minutes."

"Right, right," and then the phone disconnected.

"Did he at least say WHY he's throwing the GM's gift back in his face? I thought he was more reliable than that." Simon grumblings were not sitting well with his own worries about what Blair had got himself into.

"No he didn't, but when we drop off the ticket" he trialed off and raised his eyebrow.

"Ah man!" Daryl said from the back seat. "Do you really think he's going to fall for that? Blair can twist any conversation the way he wants. And it's not like he doesn't know your interrogation methods. Isn't that what he's studying?"

Jim forced his fingers to loosen from their grip on the steering wheel. He'd almost forgotten that Daryl was there. And he was less thrilled about the fact that the kid might have a point.

"There he is."

Blair was standing by the stairs leading to Hargrove Hall, glancing at his watch. The unusual motion caused Simon to comment, "What, are we holding HIM up from something?"

As the truck pulled in front of him, Blair scurried to the side window. "Sorry about this guys! Hey Daryl, how'd that last project go? Do you have the ticket? I might, just might, make the last part. And I was looking forward to the fundraiser, too. Jim?" And here he stuck his hand through the partially opened window, just past Simon's nose. "Could you donate that for me?" He dropped a rolled up bill by the gear shift.

"Ticket? I don't want you guys to miss anything, so I'll just be—"

"Hold up right there!"

Jim found himself doing some of Blair's breathing exercises. Something was really wrong with Sandburg, and Simon's tone was not going to help matters.

He interrupted his boss. "Got the ticket here. Are you sure? Do you need?" He didn't even know what he was offering. What was he thinking? They had courtside tickets: the kind people were willing to sell internal organs for.

"No worries! Enjoy the game and Jim? Don't eat more than two of those death dogs!" Ticket in hand, Sandburg managed to dance away from the truck. "Thanks, guy! Bye Daryl!" And he was off towards the side parking lot.

"That's your great interrogation method?" Did every teenager perfect the "I told you so" tone?

Ignoring the glare from Simon, Jim headed towards the stadium. He didn't know what was up with Sandburg, but he was going to find out.

##

Normally he would have been pleased with the song and dance he'd managed with Jim and Simon, but he had too many other things on his mind. It didn't happen often, but still too often for his liking. This time he didn't need his car, others would handle that, but transportation was the easy part. There weren't many details, never were, but he had enough to work with.

He had to hit the phones.

And Jack Kelso was going to be his first call.

##

They were early enough not to have needed the special parking pass, but Jim knew after the game they'd all be thankful for it. The V.I.P. lot was smaller and had a traffic light onto the main street: made for a quicker exit.

But the shine was off the evening. Even Daryl didn't harass his father for the special program—that 'discussion' was almost scripted in its regularity. But Daryl did enjoy the pre-show—and after watching the cheerleaders show of their flexibility, strength and timing, even Simon was willing to concede they were athletes—and they settled into enjoying the game.

Which would have worked better if Jim didn't keep turning to the empty chair beside him with color commentary. Blair had his own life. He could do what he liked. But what he liked was the Jags. Jim couldn't figure out what would be more important, or what couldn't have waited until tomorrow. Another item that worried him was that Blair had given him a fifty dollar bill for the charity. This from a guy whose finances flirted with poverty as often as Blair flirted with girls. Not that Blair wasn't charitable minded, but fifty bucks was a big deal to the grad student. Hell to any student.

It was just another thing that didn't feel right. Blair knew he could ask Jim for help, didn't he?

"God that was amazing! Did you see that Jim?" Daryl's hand was gripping his sleeve as he bounced in his seat. "See Dad, I told you he would make that shot!"

And apparently he'd missed the play of the game. And it was all Sandburg's fault.

##

"Jack, if we can get you pictures tomorrow, how long for the new ids?" As he was on the phone, he was scanning Cascade's newest classified site, Craig's list. He loved this list; prices were reasonable and sometimes free. Even better, it was quick and as anonymous as they needed. "Three days? That should work. Again working with a partial history here, but I'm heading to the safe house in a few minutes."

"Always happy to help."

And Blair knew that. He'd actually first met the ex-spy through the Underground. When he'd found out Jack's former occupation, Blair's anti-establishment upbringing had bristled, but after sitting down with the man, he'd quickly be reassured. As Jack said, he'd been trained with these skills, might as well use them for good.

Scribbling down the last few things he'd found, he looked at the time. 8:00. He just might make the last bit of the game. As much as he hated missing a Jag's game, letting Jim down was worse. But there were priorities, and best friend hang time wasn't as important as what needed to be done. Part of him wished he could tell Jim what was going on, but Jim's secrets weren't the only ones he kept.

##

"Ellison! The game's in front of you." Simon handed him one of those flimsy beer cups that actually contaminated the taste of his Coors Light. "You're as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as my gramma used to say. Do you really think he'll turn up? Probably with some girl."

"Sandburg has better priorities than that, Sir."

"Oh oh, dad. He's breaking out the Sirs." But Daryl followed that ribbing by stealing some of Jim's popcorn. Or rather, some more of Jim's almost empty bag of popcorn. Had he really been so unfocused?

"Daryl, why didn't you just your own?" he say as he batting away the intruding hand.

"Liberated popcorn tastes better. Just ask Blair!"

Jim just sighed and passed over the remains of the bag. "Here, just take it."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're no fun?"  
"All the time, Daryl. All the time."

##

Even taking the bus, he'd been the first to arrive at the safe house. The email hadn't given the address--the less written down the better in these situations—that's why they used code. The owner, after recognizing him, led him to the basement apartment. The one the city knew nothing about. It wasn't a permanent solution, but first a respite was needed. Time to collect themselves. Time to breathe before making decisions about the future.

And that's what the Underground was able to give them. That and the basic tools to survive. He hadn't told Jim, but he could have found an apartment in that one week. That was someone's job, scanning for inexpensive places in the city. But the others needs were so much more important, and Jim didn't seem to mind. And after the disaster of the warehouse, Blair had enjoyed living with someone. Or rather, living with Jim. Someone to try out recipes on. Someone to bitch about tv shows with. Man was a social animal, and while Larry was great, he just didn't get the finer points of Star Trek's social implications or when it was constitutionally mandated to yell at a ref.

Man he wished he was at the game.

After making up the two beds with the provided linens, he grabbed the broom and did a quick final sweep. They'd been through enough. This wasn't the Ritz, but at least it should feel homey. Or better than home.

He heard the knock at the backdoor. They were here. Now the hard part of his work would begin.

##

"Need anything to eat? I thought I'd just—"

"Wander around looking for Sandburg?" Simon shook his head, refusing to by into Jim's obfuscation. "The mother hen routine was cute at first but anyone willing to give up courtside deserves what they get."

"It's just not like him." Okay that wasn't something he'd been planning to say. So he changed his mind. It wasn't a crime. But Sandburg's behavior was like a stage magician's: showing the left hand when the right hand was the one getting into tricks.

He just wanted to know what Blair's right hand was up to. Didn't friends trust each other?

##

"You've taken the first and biggest step by trusting us. Thank you." Blair was squatting across from the bed where a young woman, even younger than him, was hunched over her three year old daughter. The desperation of her hold was mirrored in the child's grip on her teddy bear. There were two backpacks, one black and one pink with Barbie on the back as well as a large purse resting on the floor by the bed. It was all they had.

"Changing cities will help. And we're very careful about public records. We suggest you stay in Cascade for a few months, see if it feels like home. Me, I love it here, but I'd suggest a good rain coat. Did you work before you got married?"

That earned him a nod, or what he chose to interpret as a nod as the fall of curly dark hair moved up and down.

"Did you keep up on computer skills? I know it's hard…"

That got him a laugh.

"Oh I'm fine on computers. _HE_ didn't think I knew his password. That's how I found y'all." The hand around her daughter's leg flexed.

"That's good then. Temp work is the easiest to start with, not too many questions."

Her head popped up. "But Social Security? I've seen movies where they track that?"

"Which is why you'll have a new one. One of our people, he's good at that. In a few days, you'll have a whole new identity, one that can't be tracked. So will your little girl. How old is she?"

"I's three," was the response, augmented with a chubby little hand raising the appropriate number of fingers. A chubby little hand with a dark bruise staining the back.

"A not so little girl then!" He wanted to give her a hug, but he knew better than that. This was one of Naomi's traditions he was proud to continue. She'd put him in touch with the Underground when he first came to Rainier. He'd started on apartment detail.

"Right now, is it okay if we take a picture – for the id?" Not all of them were able at first. Part of it was fear, part of it was practical.

"Oh he knew better than to make the marks public." The woman took a deep breath, then slowly released her daughter. "Just here, right?"

Blair quietly indicated a wall with a hanging sheet. They'd used this house before; all the set up was ready.

He was always amazed by what he saw through the camera's lens. The strength and courage of the women they helped rocked him to the core. Reminded him a bit of Jim when he'd first met him. Facing impossible odds but determined not to be a victim.

"Did you want to?" He just gestured around his face and hair. "I know you've changed things, did you want to look in the mirror first?" Dying hair, of both of the women and the children, was always the first step once they'd entered the Underground.

She just shook her head. "Looking too pretty is a dead give away. Have you ever taken a child to the DMV?"

"Point," he conceded. This one was feisty. He hoped she'd make it.

##

The last quarter. Would Blair even bother at this point? It was a good game, but the Jags were down by 12. Definitely nail biter territory.

He was watching the flow of the ball, back and forth, when a voice interrupted his concentration.

"Hey man, you even got me a beer! You're my hero!"

"Shut up, Sandburg- we're still behind!" Blair was here, where he belonged.

"The first half was amazing. Carl made a shot from his own net!" Daryl leaned over Jim to talk with Blair. "Where were you?"

"Sorry, sport. Something came up, but I'm here now. So." He leaned in. "How many dogs did Jim really eat?"

"Chief, watch the game."

He still had questions, but they could wait. The four friends watched and cheered as their team came from behind and won with a four point lead.

All in all, it was a good day.

##

As they headed to the truck, Blair leaned into Jim a little. He loved his work with the Underground. Or rather he knew he was helping, but each time hurt, leaving him feeling a little empty at humanities' ability to hurt their nearest and dearest.

The game had helped, but he knew he'd be feeling guilty for the next few days. He COULD sit courtside and not worry about cameras. He had friends and knew this city like the back of his hand because he'd put down roots. His friends knew his real name. Things most of the world took for granted. But not everyone.

But he'd helped two more people tonight. In a way that the more traditional methods couldn't.

"Who's hungry? It's the Jag's eighth win in a row. That calls for food!"

"It's getting late—"

"Dad, it's a Friday. And I didn't get to tell Blair about my social science project and the new band and--"

"Fine, just don't be telling your mother I let you eat this late."

Yup, a very good day.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N2: Domestic abuse continues to be a social issue affecting unknown numbers of families. Many do not report the abuse; some do have to flee. This story is pure fabrication, and is not meant to be an accurate reflection of this situation. However, it is something I could see both Naomi and Blair being involved it.
> 
> A/N3: Craig's list started in the San Fran Bay area in 1995, I figure it's possible to have spread to the fictional Cascade to fit the time lines.


End file.
